


My Body Is Your Body

by electricblueninja



Series: Conversation Starters For Couples [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Smut, gently gently, slowly slowly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:21:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27973655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricblueninja/pseuds/electricblueninja
Summary: There are things Dean still only knows how to say with his body. But he's willing to try and adjust his definition of 'acts of service'.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Conversation Starters For Couples [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033494
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	My Body Is Your Body

"Yes, Dean. You can."

It's kind of amazing that he's being so patient with me. I don't think I could be like him, if our roles were reversed. But he's just calm and quiet: no rush, no push, no demands. He's just _there_ , gentle, letting me take the time I need. 

God only knows I'm going to need it. 

Normally there's not a bunch of difference between what I think and how I feel. But what's happening now is not 'normal', not by any stretch of the imagination. And what I think and what I feel have never been so far apart. The things that I'm thinking...I've thought them for decades, and I believed them. Things about myself, and they won't change-- _can't_ change. Not so fast. Not so easy. 

But on the other hand, there's the things I feel. And these feelings, they're new, but I want to feel them. I want to be brave. I want to let Cas know that all this waiting he's done for me, and the waiting that he keeps on doing, for my sake--that it's worth it. I want him to know that it means something to me. That I appreciate it. That I appreciate _him._

I can feel my cheeks burning. Even in the dark, I'm embarrassed to look at him. But I do it anyway--I force myself to look. 

There's something about him that's magnetic to me. Always has been, ever since he blew out all the lights in that barn, and didn't even flinch when I drove a knife through his chest. 

I make fun of him for looking like a holy tax accountant, but he's not that weedy--not really. Not when you see what's under the suit. The lines of his body are smooth and well-rounded. His chest is strong and broad, and his arms and shoulders are thick with muscle; muscle that is highlighted, because the dimness of the lamplight just deepens every shadow, and heightens the contrast created by, for instance, the swell of his biceps.

Cas wriggles back a little to rest the back of his head on the bedframe, tilting his chin at me, his eyes questioning.

"Are you alright, Dean?" he asks gently. 

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm--I'm fine. I just...I feel like I'm..."

_I feel like I'm seeing you for the first time. I feel like this is the first time since I've met you that I've looked at_ _you. I mean,_ _really_ looked _at you. And maybe the first time I've been truly honest with myself about how I feel about what I see._

Nope, still can't say it. Can't say any of it. I hope you're listening, Cas. I hope you can hear me. I hope you know. I hope I get my shit together enough to be able to say it to you out loud, one day, but today is not that day.

I rest my palm on his thigh, just above the knee. The coarse hair under my hand is unfamiliar. I'm used to women's shaved legs; may a bit of prickle from regrowth or something. But Cas is just straight-up fuzzy. It's weird. Not unpleasant, but weird. 

I slide my hand upwards. His quads are hard under my touch. It's like stroking a sun-warmed stone--smooth, but no give. The texture of his skin softens as my hands rises; there's gradually less hair, until my palm is pressed to the pale skin of his uppermost thigh, my fingers resting on his hipbone. The only thing separating us now is the thin cotton of his boxers, their fabric bunched up under the pad of my hand. 

His underwear does approximately nothing to hide his boner. If anything, it kind of draws attention to it, because for some reason Cas upheld Jimmy Novak's preference for white shorts, and...well, white stands out in the dark, and other things are, uh, standing. So.

I move my hand over Cas' cock, trying to copy the way he was touching me, earlier--the way he rounded his palm and rubbed against me to create that toe-curling tension. 

His breath catches in his throat as I caress him, and I take a slightly firmer grip, letting the soft folds of cloth create additional friction, catching lightly on itself when it becomes trapped between our skin. 

I let my thumb and fingertips take centre stage. I touch Cas like I'd touch myself if I was having some quality time alone, and he sighs, everything except his cock relaxing, melting into the mattress. His hands, resting either side of him, grip the sheets. I feel the tension building in him as he pushes his dick up into my hand, a low groan escaping his lips.

I don't know what I was expecting. I guess at the end of the day, he's a celestial being, sure, but he's a celestial being inside a regular guy's body. And I'm a regular guy, too, and I know what _I_ like. 

From the way his fingers are twisting the bedclothes, he likes the same things I do.

I get frustrated by his shorts. They're in the way. I let go of him just long enough to grab his stupid underwear by the waistband and tug it down over his dick, but I don't bother pulling it down any further. I've had my share of rushed encounters, and I know _exactly_ what it feels like to have that tight elastic wrapped around your balls--it'll be borderline, for sure; close to painful without crossing the line; it'll bring him right to the edge, and keep him there.

The skin of his dick is soft, but beneath the surface he's rock-hard. Its swollen head glistens in the faint glow of the lamplight. I curl my fingers around him and slide them down, right down to the base, alternating between a tighter and a looser grip as I move steadily up and down...

He groans, the tendons in his neck standing out as he thrusts into my hand. I think he's close. He's starting to moan my name, with a rising undertone of urgency and desperation. 

I lean down, pressing my lips to his throat and letting him use my weight on his body as a lever point, so that he can get the angle just right. His fingers dig roughly into my back, and I feel him bracing his feet against the mattress, knees up as he slides in and out of my fist.

I'm pretty much expecting the hot, wet mess that spurts over my fingers and the back of my hand as he cums. The fact that the light blows when he does, not so much.

In the sudden darkness, he's breathless; pulsating in my hand; shuddering, shaking, and still holding onto me like I'm the only thing keeping him together.

I rest my face in the crook of his neck, heaving in the smell of his skin, as well as the less-familiar smells of guy sex. The fact that they're unfamiliar smells doesn't seem to bother my cock, which is jabbing urgently against Cas' hip: I reach down to adjust it, with a muffled apology, but Cas just reaches for my hand, and replaces it back on his own, coaxing my fingers under the elastic of his waistband to cup his balls. Which I actually...I don't mind. They're soft, and still a little heavy, and my stomach does this weird flippy thing as I sort of remember exactly what I've got in my hand.

I lie still for a little while, trying to adjust--to the dark; to the feelings; to the sense of secondary satisfaction I get from his orgasm. A good few minutes go by, and then reclaim my hand again, wiping a little of the stickiness off onto the bedclothes. I wriggle forward so that I can rest my forehead on his cheek; feeling him smile as I do.

"Cas," I say, "Did you just blow the bunker's fuse?"


End file.
